Page 49 of House of the Raven
Now, he’s not only confused but also flustered. Of course, he thinks I’m safe in his presence, but letting me go anywhere means breaking those unquestionable orders.
“I need some milk with a little honey, prepared just the way I like it. Not too sweet, not too plain,” I say with a coy smile. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, I need a good night of sleep if I’m to survive the rest of the journey.”
I can see the moment he decides there is no harm in letting the poor princess get what she needs. His eyes soften, and a smile stretches his lips. He seems nice, and I like him for that. None of this is his fault. He’s just doing what he’s supposed to do.
We go downstairs, and as soon as I’m noticed, all conversations come to an abrupt stop. Every person—each a man—turns to look at me. Their expressions seem to indicate they’ve never seen a woman in a robe, no matter how decent.
I don’t allow the crude stares to stop me. In Nido, I got used to them soon after I grew breasts. Every derelict, arthritic council member suddenly realized that I existed and subjected me to their filthy inspection every time they thought no one was paying attention.
Sashaying, I make my way to the counter in the back of the room, the young guard following behind. Before I make it there, Bastien gets up from his corner table and intercepts my path.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.
“That’s the most perceptive thing you’ve ever said.” I walk around him. “I should be in Nido, attending my father’s funeral.” My voice almost breaks at this, but I’m able to swallow the lump in my throat, hardening my façade.
“Get back to yourroom.”
“Not until I get some milk.” I reach the counter and give the owner a smile. “I can’t sleep, and I thought some milk and honey might help.”
“Of course, my dear,” the man replies. “We’ll get it right away.” He instructs one of his helpers to get it done.
Behind me, Bastien chastises the young guard. “Weren’t my instructions clear?”
“Yes, sir, but she insisted,” he stammers, his expression fraught with panic.
A pang of guilt courses through me for putting him in this position, but I must ensure the image of me in my nightclothes is etched firmly in Bastien’s mind.
See, I’m not trying to escape. I’m going to bed, I’m trying to say to him.
Also, if he believes this is my way of assessing the situation and planning an escape through the front door, he’ll be less likely to figure out my real scheme.
“If you can’t follow simple orders, perhaps your sole duty should be mucking the horses,” Bastien spits.
“What was I supposed to do?” the young guard asks. “Deck her?”
“Not a bad idea,” Bastien sneers.
I’d like to see him try.
“Get back to your room,” he orders again.
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not going anywhere until I get my milk.”
His eyes narrow, and his jaw ticks with irritation.
The inn owner regards us with curiosity, and Bastien seems to think better of making a scene. He wouldn’t want to give anyone the impression that I’m being manhandled and forced to do things against my will.
While I wait, I glance around the room. Several of the guards traveling in our party sit there, nursing tankards. Their attention is still focused on me, though they are doing a very good job at pretending it isn’t. I make a head count. Three of our guards are missing. That means they areoutside, keeping watch. I imagine one guarding the front door, another one stationed in the back, and the last watching the horses. Three against two, not bad odds.
The helper returns with my milk, and the owner takes it and offers it to me. I cradle the heavy mug in my hands, enjoying the warmth and the scent of cinnamon and honey wafting from the delicious treat. I smile, then take a sip and let out an involuntary moan.
“Wonderful. Just how I like it. I thank you, kind señor.”
“You’re welcome, señorita.”
Without a word to the others, I head upstairs. I’m tempted to say my soothing drink will help me sleep like a babe, but that would only make Bastien more suspicious. I’m also tempted to visit Jago’s chamber to tell him how many guards are outside, but I’m sure he already made his own perusal. He knows the plan as well as I do.
Back in my room, I drink the milk. It’s too rich and delicious to let it go to waste. I don’t rest my head on the pillow though, lest the drink has its intended effect. Instead, I occupy myself with packing a bundle, using one of my tunics as a makeshift rucksack. It wouldn’t do to escape completely empty-handed.
